Prequel to Darkness
by KMSaum
Summary: UPDATED! How exactly did all of the FF characters end up together? Battles, emotional tribulations, and new friendship in odd places...Prequel to Escape from Hollow Bastion.
1. Chap 1: Balamb Burning

"Prequel to Darkness..." I got this idea from the KH walkthrough guide. If you read Squ...err, Leon's bio, you find that they stick to the fact that he was a highly trained member from an academy in Balamb. I found this a little odd and it made me wonder...how did he end up where he did, and how did the others find their way together? This story is my answer to that, and about what happened before the Heartless showed up. Also, please note that Balamb is smaller than it was in FFVIII, and also that Selphie (because of Destiny Island) and all the others (for my personal reasons) are NOT part of Squall's "elite team." **This is a PREQUEL to "Escape from Hollow Bastion." R&R please!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any trademarked things-characters, places, etc.--but the storyline and any other original characters are mine. **

**EDITED 06/09: I hated the age thing so I'm fixing it!**

**Prequel to Darkness**

Flames tore the darkness of the sky, disjoining the stillness and rending the dark patterns of the cloudy nightscape with a thousand incendiary hands. Beyond the fiery light and the searing heat, a tumultuous symphony of sounds assaulted any ears within range: frantic shouting; the scream of metal grating metal; the cries of warring men. The reek of burning flesh, the black consumption of life into fire, wafted on a deadened breeze through courtyards that ran with blood. Collectively the picture painted was a grim one, one of a sleeping academy taken by surprise in the dead of night.

A dark figure leaned against a tree, well away from the thick of the action. He watched Balamb Garden burning with stoicism befitting his status, waiting intently for his target's impending entrance. Let the others handle the small fry--he was going after the big fish, the Commander, and no one but. Habitually, he looked again at the profile card in his hand.

**Target Name:** Squall Leonheart

**Primary weapon:** standard-issue gunblade

**Magical capability range:** All base-level offensive spells and Cure--most proficient with Fire. Spell keyword is a growl.

**Overall combat proficiency rating:** S

The information was coupled, as usual, with a small picture of the face of his target. This one was male, obviously young, but possessing a harsh, calculating look that the mercenary didn't dismiss. The youth's mouth was a thin line in the picture, his jaw hard for no older than he was. Blue-gray eyes, eyes that matched a troubled sky just before a hellacious storm, were set off by brownish hair. There was definitely something tell-tale in those eyes, something familiar, and again something the man examining them did not write off. Knowing and correctly estimating one's opposition made elimination that much easier.

Still, part of him could not help being irked at the fact that they'd sent him after a kid. Sure, their entire force of mercenaries had been deployed to wipe out Balamb, their only tangible rivals and he, as the best of his team, was expected to find and engage the SeeD Commander. It seemed horribly frivolous to him that said Commander was in his teens—he had taken out older, wiser, and stronger men than Leonhart looked to be—but he was not one to question orders. A contract was a contract, and his told him to find and kill Squall Leonheart.

Coincidentally Squall had already been found, though not by the pensive mercenary waiting him out. The Commander had awoken at the first sign of smoke, when the faintest whiffs of its telling odor reached him in his dorm room. Already not one prone to sleeping well, he had woken from his fitful dreams instantly, nerves humming and entirely alert. It took him no time at all to dress in his typical black pants, white shirt and short-cut jacket, and even less time to fasten his gunblade sheath onto his waist. Following a hunch prompted by the sudden commencement of not-so-distant sounds of battle, he grabbed a shoulder pack and stuffed a few belongings into it. All told, it took him just over a minute. That was a plus, for he had the distinct feeling he might not be coming back here anytime soon. Shouldering the pack on his left and his drawn gunblade on his right, he opened his door, unsure of what he would find.

Fire had already begun to burn its way down his corridor, licking the ceiling and walls hungrily in his direction. The wall of flame had progressed just far enough to prevent him from safely exiting at that end of the hall. Scowling, not at all fazed, Squall did the easiest thing he could think of. Turning, he raised a booted foot and kicked out the nearest window, shattering the glass and stepping through, unscathed. The scene in what used to be the Garden's courtyard, however, would not be so easily remedied.


	2. Chap 2: Subordinate

Platonic1—Thank you again for the review! I'm hoping this one comes along quickly.

Wolf's moon 21—Thanks very much—I look forward to reading your reviews. Again, hoping this one comes out quickly.

Thanks again to my two loyal reviewers! (I really do appreciate it!)

Disclaimer: same old same old. Trademarks aren't mine, everything else is. R&R please!

** Chapter 2 **

There were bodies everywhere, in the literal sense of the expression. From his first step out through the shattered window, Squall was surrounded by fallen members of Balamb's renowned academy, many of them wearing nightshirts and pajamas. Leonheart scowled, the expression having as much a duel-meaning as any oxymoron: first, he scowled to see so many of his fellows dead; second, he was equally disgusted by the things they had apparently tried to use as weapons. Discarded or held in cooling hands was everything from a chair leg to a broken-off bed post.

_Where were their weapons?_ Squall asked himself, kicking a pillow savagely out of his way as he scanned the area. Death everywhere, and his fellows had done no better than to defend themselves with bracket they'd had lying about in their rooms. Even woken from a dead sleep and presented with fire looming nearby, a SeeD should've had the sense to lunge, first and foremost, for a nearby weapon. Basic training reinforced the need for constant preparation and readiness–had these that had fallen ignored those repeated warnings simply because they thought themselves safe within the Academy's walls? The Commander scowled more deeply: relaxation was one thing; being blatantly unprepared was completely another.

An explosion of flame from behind him brought Squall vividly back into reality and he scolded himself for standing still for so long. Bending over double, the Commander took refuge behind an overturned picnic table. The C hall of the dorms was burning, completely engulfed, to his right while B hall, at his back, was in a similar condition, its ceiling already collapsed. That left the imperiled A hall where his room was located at his left, and a handful of enemies directly in front of him.

Five men sauntered into the flame-encircled courtyard, walking through what remained of one of the outer walls. The tallest of which, a dark man in his late twenties, seemed to be dictating orders to the other four, talking much more loudly than was necessary. Squall pressed himself hard against the wood of the table, accommodating so that the firelight would not reflect off of the flawless steel in his hand, assuring this by holding his gunblade low. Low, but ready for use. He had a feeling it would not be long before he found the need.

Gorham Ingersoll gave the courtyard he and his men had leveled little more than a passing glance. He instead glared over his shoulder at a tree in the distance, against which the man he answered to was leaning. A scowl played across his angular, stony face as he recalled, pragmatically, his own orders: Balamb was to be set ablaze and all student mercenaries eliminated, all but the Commander. Squall Leonheart was strictly reserved for the Leader. It was his fight and no one else's, in his exact words, and Leonheart was not to be harmed by anyone but him. Gorham's job was containment–containment and containment _only_--in the case of the SeeDs' young Commander. The very thought infuriated him.

He was second-in-command of the mercenary band's active troops, second only to the man leaning on the tree, the man that was no match for him in size or stature. Gorham was broader of frame and stood half a foot taller than his Leader; the spikes of the other man's hair barely reached to Gorham's blockish shoulders. The man tightened the tie around his crimson horsetail, agitated despite the sweep they'd made of the Academy thus fa. He had ten kills himself, but neither he nor anyone else had seen high or nigh of Squall Leonheart yet. He wanted scarce few things from the raid, the foremost of those being able to sink his sword to the hilt in the chest of Balamb's Commander, though it was looking less and less like he was going to have that chance. With the place aflame and all of the SeeDs in the area dead, Gorham doubted Squall was still lingering nearby.

One man strolled further into the flaming courtyard, haphazardly keeping his rifle resting on his shoulder as he examined an overturned table. A white wall of pain exploded in the gunman a breath later as the Lionheart's wickedly sharp tip plunged into one of his lungs, snaking its way surreptitiously between two ribs. He looked down with suddenly terror-widened eyes; the look vanished into blank infinity as the unfortunate gunman slid off the blade and onto the ground.

Gorham barely registered the movements at first, hardly noticing the first man's defeat until a form exploded into action, engaging and cutting down another of his men in a long, exaggerated cut extenuated by the firelight. The other two were not held in the grips of shock any longer and, drawing level ready weapons, charged simultaneously at their brazen enemy. Gorham smiled at the irony–the prey that had been denied him had walked directly into his waiting hands. The Leader couldn't kill what he couldn't find, and his second-in-command had no intention of trying to contain the assailing blur that was Squall Leonheart at that moment.

_Self defense,_ the tall red-head concluded inwardly. All the excuse he would need.

Well, there we go—chap 2 done. Tell me what you think thus far! K


	3. Chap 3: New Threat

Platonic1: Thanks again for reviewing…and I look forward to more of your work!

Please R&R—you know the disclaimer.

**Chapter 3 **

Squall lunged to his feet and stabbed the Lionheart forward in a fast, straight thrust, striking the life from the gunman before he even realized an enemy was in his midst. The Commander let the man's body ease off his sword's fine edge, hardly pausing in his momentum from the first strike to the second, the latter of which opened a gaping slice on his second target's abdomen. That man fell a pace from the first, twitching as his life's essence ran from him.

Staining the already abscessed ground with the blood of yet another fallen.

The next two attackers had the sense to coordinate and Squall hastened back a step, wary, rising to the balls of his feet in a reflexive defensive posture. The men, both sword wielders, came at him as one; Squall sidestepped the rightmost, in motion a split instant before them, knocking aside the second's blade with an easy parry. The man he had dodged swung backhanded to retaliate. Squall was already gone, the Lionheart raking out wide and seemingly too far out to be brought back against the avenging target. That same man reversed his backhand and sliced back in at the still-moving Commander, hoping to dart in in the moment of apparent weakness. He realized the feint for what it was as the gunblade–reversed as his blade was, mid-swing–tore his sword and two fingers from his hand. Squall had just enough time to pivot on his booted heel and parry his other attacker, meeting him blade to blade. Sparks rained from the impact.

Gorham smiled, enjoying the sight. Eighteen or not, Leonheart was as good as his reputation and more. Watching the youth parry nearly simultaneous blows and still squeeze in a perfect counterstrike, the mercenary nearly laughed out loud in felicitous anticipation. A hungry look came over him then and, letting the surge of emotion escape his lips, the redhead charged forward.

A roar that was no less than feral drew Squall's attention to a new enemy. The moment cost him, almost dearly, as his other attacker drove his gunblade out indefensibly wide. The partner strike sliced in and horizontal; Squall jerked rearward, compromising balance in trade for sheer desperation and necessity. The Commander shifted his hips, sliding backwards on the dusty, bloody ground, sucking in his stomach as he did so. He bit his lower lip as the assailing blade cut a shallow u-shape across his lower torso. The metal slit neatly through muscle and tissue, hardly catching at all.

The man, his attack connecting much less solidly than he'd intended, overbalanced as Squall swung his gunblade down, one handed, still off balance himself. He lacked the necessary force to knock his assailant out cold, but a pommel to the back of the head sent the swordsman stumbling a satisfactory distance away from the action. Spinning, Squall met the first attack of the roaring man that had been giving orders, and the youth had to catch himself in the face of sheer surprise. Gorham was over a full head taller, his shoulders as wide as the distance between Squall's and half of that again. For each of Leonheart's lithe, neatly defined muscles Gorham had a matching set that was a good deal bulkier. Taking in steel gray eyes and red hair died bloody by the firelight, Squall found himself pitted against a man that was, in every respect, larger and a good deal stronger than he himself.

A man who, in every respect, would thoroughly thrash him if Squall remained in close quarters, near enough to receive direct blows from a massive sword swung by massive arms. The force of the first impact alone had the Commander's arms tingling in lingering numbness.

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Yay—updates all around. My first since starting college! Please tell me what ya thought—this is as far as I've gotten with this one!

K


	4. Chap 4: Outmatched

**--Chapter 4--**

Coldly he shifted a step back and slid into a firm defensive stance, raising the gunblade to a level readiness at height with his chest.

"Ooh, the lion plans to fight," Gorham breathed, showing white teeth in a wild grin, "…good."

_I'm in trouble, _Squall realized, feeling blood trickling from the shallow wound across his stomach. _Hope his size is an indicator of his speed…_ Leonhart blocked a rush, leaping away and blocking a second attack: the entire exchange transpired in a blink. Squall sighed inwardly.

_Guess not._ Why was _nothing _ever easy? Gorham was fast—deathly so, for a man with his size—and Squall, wounded and bleeding, was only going to slow down.

Both combatants came to this awareness at the same time, for Squall grimaced at the same time that Gorham grinned, still bearing his teeth wolfishly as the two men circled.

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty," he taunted, striking at Squall with swings that were so slow that they were pushing lazy. Squall felt a hot anger blossom in his chest—he was being _toyed_ with. "Come a little closer, kitty; come closer so that I may show you your end." And with that he laughed, driving in against the SeeD Commander with a number of rapid strikes. Left, right, left…Squall parried only by inches, feeling the slow drag of blood loss begin to tell on his muscles. _Already,_ he realized. _I'm slowing down _already.

Gorham made this official by jumping back into his normal speed and, because what Squall had realized was true, his huge sword caught the SeeD before he could block. With his arms again thrown wide from a previous defense, the Commander was helpless to stop the tip of his enemy's weapon as its tip slid into his right arm, just above the elbow. A line of blood and fiery pain expanded as Gorham's blade tore upwards, slicing muscle clean up to Squall's shoulder before he could dodge away. He rolled, almost instantly regaining his feet, as Gorham laughed, full-throated and loud.

"What's the matter, little boy? Turns out the lion really _isn't _much more than a pompous kitty, eh? Ha! And to think they were going to keep you just for the Leader to fight. Ridiculous," he growled, mood suddenly darkening as a shadow of anger that had nothing to do with Squall crossed his face. "You're supposed to be one of the best, just like _him_. What is it with everyone thinking these young ones are such hot shit?"

Squall was panting, though lines of cold sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Clutching the Lionheart in his left hand, he held his wounded right arm defensively close against his stomach. The blood flow from his torso had (thankfully) slowed but, as his drenched coat sleeve made very apparent, the deep cut running up the underside of his arm was not going to do so any time soon. His enemy at least was preoccupied with some issue inside his own head, judging from his muttering and glazed-over eyes.

Behind them, the fires grew taller. Squall wondered off-handedly if perhaps the blood loss wouldn't matter. If the gateway to the courtyard caught fire, they'd both be trapped and burned to death before long.

Meanwhile, Gorham's musing about Leonhart and his Leader had put him in a foul mood. _As if these teenagers are something special! As if they're touched by the gods or some stupid shit like that!_ And with the unlikely thought that bastards like this little SeeD got the jump on him through some divine influence, Ingersoll gave another rage-laden yell and raised his sword.

_Damn._ Squall dodged quickly to the left as Gorham charged wildly, only to receive what felt like a full swing with a baseball bat smash him between the shoulders. He stumbled, nearly fell, and side-stepped Gorham again as he turned around.

The swordsman whose hand he had cut was teetering there, wielding a two-by-four from the destroyed picnic table that Squall had hidden behind. Tears of agony and remorse poured freely down his face as he clutched the chunk of timber awkwardly in his off hand. His right was a bloody, mangled mess, a child's tattered plaything that has met with something whirring and bladed.

"You made me lose my fingers, you bastard! I'll never hold a sword again!" This was devastating to one who made his life as a SOLDIER, but at that point Squall was lost for pity. Trying to shake the aching dizziness that the man's blow had caused, the SeeD waited for the injured swordsman to charge again. Blindly he did so, shouting more about how he would never be able to properly fight again. When Squall leapt to his side, the Lionheart kissed his temple as a big cat will a gazelle's throat. There was a rainfall of crimson and the sickly thunder of metal crunching and sliding off of bone. He had made sure the de-fingered mercenary would never do _anything _properly again.

_Please R&R--i like how this is going!_

_-K-_


	5. Chap 5: And Death is Waiting

**--Chapter 5--**

From a rampart nearby, the shadowy figure that had been leaning against the tree looked around himself, his eyes scanning the forsaken bodies and burning livelihood around him with nothing more than a passing killer's interest.

His prey was not here.

Oddly enough, though, as he heard the yells from the flaming courtyard a ways ahead, a sudden feeling of wrongness began to flower in his chest. Like a weed, the foreboding choked out the battle lust ignited by the shouts of men and the cacophony of metal he striking metal, and like a weed he wanted that odd feeling gone, torn by the root and gone forever.

He knew his orders, and he knew his duty. His contract told him to eliminate one Squall Leonhart, SeeD Commander, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

Given the sounds issuing from the gate ahead, he had a strong inclination that his mission was about to come to its climax.

_Oooh, suspense! Please R&R!_

_-K-_


	6. Chap 6: One Bad Turn

_This one is much longer, and much more happenin'. Hope you enjoy, and Please R&R!_

**--Chapter 6—**

Squall grimaced and fell back, blocking Gorham's clumsy left-handed swing with a maneuver that sent sparks scampering down his weapon's blade. Breathless and partly blind from blood loss the SeeD reeled, slammed back by Gorham's free hand and tripping over the body of the man he had killed only minutes before.

"Gotcha." The large redhead lunged, confident he had his opponent right where he wanted him. Grinning the grin of one who has won he drove forward...

...and started as the Lionheart, lightning fast, snaked up from the ground, slim blade whistling in the smoky air to bite into his right side. The blade's mark was not all he received; as Squall fell, his left index finger found the gunblade's trigger, and an explosion sounded in the clearing as the hammer pounded home. The two men were in such proximity that Squall _saw_ the bullet ricochet off of Gorham's ribcage.

He had enough time to regret the wideness of the shot, and to realize that it was far from enough to put Gorham down for good. Worse, it wasn't even enough to stem his assault. Not even his _smile_ faltered as his right hand clamped down on Squall's considerably thinner wrist, jerking him forward and snapping the SeeD's neck back violently in the process. Squall's already unsteady grip on the Lionheart failed. In the same motion Gorham let his own sword drop willingly, curling the fingers of his left hand into a fist that lashed out like a striking serpent. A slightly inaccurate serpent, though, for instead of in the face the left hook caught him squarely in the throat.

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The shadowy figure came around the gate just in time to see his second-in-command Gorham Ingersoll grappling on the ground with another, smaller man. The SOLDIER struck his opponent and rolled away, kicking one sword on the ground out of his reach while retrieving his own blade. His back was to his superior. Firelight glinted coldly off of the weapon that Gorham had knocked away, and a hot rush of anger coursed up the Leader's spine as he recognized the distinct weapon for what it was.

He could hear his second gloating, could hear the man he now recognized as his target gasping for breath from his unwanted position on the bloodstained ground.

"Ahh, the kitty's down for the count, finally!" Gorham's voice wafted lazily on the deadened breeze, a bird on an upstream of air. "I will do you a favor, then, and put you down for mercy's sake!" The redhead advanced again, sword in his left hand again, his right eagerly outstretched.

"Gorham!" the Leader roared, so loudly that both men ahead of him started visibly. Drawing his own massive blade, the shadowed man started forward.

Squall slid back, choking and trying vainly to draw sufficient air through his crushed windpipe. Gorham had frozen at the cry of his name, his face exploding in emotion: first in shock, then in fury. Straightening, the man turned to face his Leader.

Leonhart, no stranger to competition, recognized the blonde youth—_youth_, for like Squall himself it was pushing decency to call one so young a man—immediately. The recognition was not a pleasant one, for if Gorham did not kill him, Cloud Strife most certainly would. Noting that his two enemies were preoccupied with one another, Leonhart ever-so-slightly began inching toward his nearby blade.

"Cloud, sir, I am glad to see you," Gorham began. "I very nearly had the situation under control; you see, I was trying to apprehend Leonhart for you, as I was ordered, and—"

"'Putting him down' hardly sounds like apprehension, SOLDIER." Cloud's voice was quiet but his tone, soft and yet still subtly furious, was heavy with ice. "You were told to apprehend _only_, with minimal damage done to the target."

"He took us by surprise—"

"And yet how is it that three Class-B SOLDIERS," he motioned to the dead man and the other swordsman, unconscious now, lying nearby, "are so ridiculously outclassed by a single target, even one with an S proficiency rating? After one fatality you should have known and duly respected his abilities, especially wounded. You should _know_ that wounded animals fight the hardest when pressed."

"Indeed, _sir,_" there was no forced goodwill in Gorham's tone now, only blatant contempt barely concealed. "It seems I erred." Cloud did not miss the way Gorham's teeth were .gritted, nor how he switched his blade back into his dominant hand.

"Yet another display of insubordination, and now you would strike me?" Cloud questioned, his quiet voice holding an 'I-don't-care-but-you-had-better-make-the-first-blow-count' tone to it. "Gorham, I order you to stand down." The larger man's eyes flashed, and he roared:

"_I NO LONGER TAKE ORDERS FROM A CHILD!_" as he charged his superior. Strife readied himself instantaneously, blocking Gorham's first attack with little more effort than he used to lift his sword. Ingersoll doubled back, swinging his blade in a fierce arc from over his head, yelling in triumph all the while. It was nearly impossible to block a swing like that delivered by a man of his size and skill.

And yet, Strife had little problem. Catching Gorham's sword with his own enormous blade, Cloud buckled only slightly at the impact. As he straightened, his sheer _power_ was enough to break the standoff, and his forceful recoil shove became a lift as Gorham flew bodily backwards. He hit the ground in something of a daze, landing squarely on his rear.

"What the Hell…?" But by the time he opened his eyes Strife was there, already halfway through a baseball swing. The flat of his wide blade connected solidly with the side of his second's face, sounding the crackling air with a loud _SMACK!_ Gorham spun a whole pirouette before falling flat to his face in the grass, unconscious.

"Gorham Ingersoll, this is the third time you have been caught conspiring in acts of blatant insubordination. For attacking a superior officer, your punishment is expulsion from SOLDIER and death." He said it so coolly that even Squall, no emotional indulgent himself, was a little chilled. Behind the blond, he had managed to make his way (swaying) to his feet, the Lionheart clenched in his left hand. Strife turned.

Eyes the color of morning ice met eyes the color of a rising storm. Each did a moment's appraisal of the other, hands ready to put their weapons to work at a blink's notice. The tension between the two was palpable: two of the best, by far the best of those in burning Balamb that night, staring one another down as males will always do before a match for supremacy.

Cloud spoke, finally.

"You are in no condition to fight me." There was no emotion in this, and neither of them needed any. A fact was a fact.

"I know. But truthfully that doesn't change anything, now does it?"

_Actually, it does._ Cloud started at the alien thought that blasted so forcefully through his mind that it made his ears buzz. _It changes _every_thing._ A crack from the gate behind them saved the SOLDIER from trying to make sense of the ridiculous turn of his whim, for now something more pressing came to light. If they didn't leave now, they'd both be trapped in the flaming courtyard with no way out.

_If 'WE' don't leave now? What the Hell is wrong with me?_ Cloud shook his head, gloved hand going to his pocket as Squall watched him oddly. Pulling out a whistle, the SOLDIER blew two sharp bursts: the first, a quick fluttering trio; the second, a chromatic flourish. Still standing off with Leonhart some ten feet away, he waited.

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_Mmm, yes. What do you think? Please R&R!_

_-K-_


	7. Chap 7: Allies?

**--Chapter 7--**

Right on cue, a loud pair of warks sounded from the near distance. With a gust of feathers and wing-rustled hot air, two large golden birds came leaping though the gate, shaking themselves off and staring at Cloud expectantly. One of them wore only a saddle while the other, slightly larger bird was already heavily laden with packs.

_This is it, then. He's getting ready to flee, and that means…_ the SeeD had to cut off the thought as a dual wave of nausea and vertigo took him at once, nearly knocking him to his knees. Squall's already flimsy equilibrium was growing more and more unstable as more blood seeped from his arm, and if Strife was planning to escape, he had to attack now or be killed when his enemy prepped to leave.

And yet…

Something about their standoff felt more like a formality than the prequel to an actual fight. He felt wary (as he did around _all _people, ally or otherwise) but lacked in the destructive intent that he usually reserved for his enemies.

_I should be charging him while his back is turned—I'll need the advantage to stand even a chance of hitting him. I'll need the Renzozuken, and I have to—_ But even as the thoughts of what he should be doing in his current position coursed through his mind, some baseless feeling that was centered in his chest took over his actions.

Cloud turned as he heard the dull _thud_, the muffled sound of Leonhart falling to one knee on the grass.

"If you're going to kill me, do so quickly," the SeeD said quietly. Still, there was strength in his voice—it was not the voice of a man who has given up. "If not, I will attack." A ghost of a smile—one half of surprise, half of understanding—crossed Strife's face.

"I see. How do you plan on attacking me when you cannot stand?" A matching half-smile, one that said 'I know you understand what I mean,' preceded Squall's reply.

"I do not need to stand to hit you." To affirm this, he raised the gunblade and placed his thumb on the trigger, daring Strife to up the ante. Instead, Cloud shook his head and, sheathing his own massive sword on his back, turned to the chocobos.

"Save your limit breaks for an actual battle. For now, we need to get out of here. Sheathe your weapon and I'll help you onto one of the chocobos."

_What am I saying?_ Cloud wondered as Squall, equally flabbergasted, asked himself the same thing about his enemy. The SeeD thought it was a trick and the SOLDIER felt like someone else was directing his mouth as well as his words. At depth, though, both shared that odd, inexplicable feeling of ease where there should have been animosity towards the other.

Leonhart had gone still with surprise so Cloud, not even waiting for him to sheathe his weapon as a sign of agreement, started forward towards the SeeD, unarmed. It was horribly dangerous, a move that he never would have considered at any other moment and did not understand why he was doing so now. And yet here he was, advancing upon a downed enemy, a "wounded animal" as he himself had put it, and this time the animal was fully armed and able to defend himself.

_I could put a bullet between his eyes right now,_ Squall had time to think before his left hand inexplicably released the trigger and he found that he had sheathed the weapon on his hip. Strife knelt beside him, sliding Leonhart's good arm over his shoulders as he lifted him.

"This doesn't make a damn bit of sense," the SOLDIER heard the SeeD whisper, almost helplessly.

"Tell me about it," he grumbled in reply.

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_I am going places with this one next! Can anyone tell me if this is _too_ unbelievable,depsite the warrior's obvious confusion over their ownactions? (I will explain soon enough!) I don't think it is, but I'm asking for actual constructive feedback people! Help me out please!_

_-K-_


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